Patricia eBook

“You’ve simply got to have a home,”
Patricia went on; “and it’s up to me to
find you one. But I think you’ll have to
have a bath first, and your paw bandaged.”

Jumping up, Patricia darted back to the house, and
around to the side door, leading to her father’s
office. Presently, she reappeared with a cake
of antiseptic soap, a box of salve, a roll of bandage,
a pair of scissors, and a bath-towel; with these gathered
up in the skirt of her frock she led the way down
to the brook, followed by a most unsuspecting small
dog.

Ten minutes later that same small dog—­decidedly
sadder and wetter, if not wiser—­lay shivering
on the sunny bank, while Patricia rubbed him vigorously
with one of her aunt’s largest bath-towels.

Then the cut paw was salved and bandaged, and the
most hopelessly tangled knots of curls cut away.
After which, Patricia, sitting back on heels, studied
her charge approvingly.

“If Aunt Julia could see you now!
Why didn’t I do all this first? But—­well,
Aunt Julia’s made up her mind; and she isn’t
exactly the changey kind. I wonder if you’d
like it at the Millers’? They’ve got
a lot of children, but they’re ever so nice
children! They’ve three dogs now, so one
more oughtn’t to count—­and you’d
have plenty of company.”

The dog, whose only present anxiety was to feel dry
once more, merely rolled over on his back by way of
answer.

“Oh, but you mustn’t!” Patricia
protested. “You’ll get all dirty again.
I know it’s horrid to feel too clean, but, you
see, it’s so necessary to make a good first
impression! I reckon it was the first impression
that made all the trouble with Aunt Julia this morning.
Come on, we’ll start right off; it’s a
pretty long walk to the Millers’.”

They went ’cross-lots, stopping for more than
one romp by the way, one quite as light-hearted and
irresponsible as the other; though behind Patricia
lay more than one neglected task, and before her companion
stretched a possibly homeless future.

It was a nearly perfect June day, the blue sky overhead
just flecked with soft, fleecy white clouds, and with
enough breeze stirring to lift Patricia’s short
brown curls and fan her sunburned cheeks.

Out on the highroad the wild roses were in bloom,
and the air was full of soft summer sounds; the very
birds hopping lightly about from fence to fence had
a holiday air—­and to Patricia there was
something very friendly in the inquisitive cock of
their pert little heads, as they stopped now and then
to inspect her.

“Oh!” she cried, joyously, reaching up
on tiptoe to gather a spray of wild roses just above
her head, “aren’t we having the loveliest
time, Dog?”

Her companion wagged agreeingly; he was, at any rate.
The hot sun on his back felt exceedingly good; he
began to entertain hopes of actually feeling really
and thoroughly dry again—­some time.

“That’s the Millers’ house—­the
brown one, beyond the curve,” Patricia told
him. And as it was the only house in sight, he
had no trouble in locating it.